The Eye of the Beholder
by IvoryAlchemist
Summary: They looked like such a happy couple - too bad those kinds of things never work out. POV from the mother passenger on the train from X1 Rogan.


NOTE: Remember the seen from X1 when Rogue is sitting on the train, gazing longingly at the mom and her son? Anyways, I was inspired to write a POV fic from a non-mutant. Tell me what you think!

--

For a moment I consider going to her, asking to make sure she's okay. She does look _so _young, and I think it's important to set a good example for Kyle -- show him how critical it is to help out others in need. But she cringes when I meet her eyes, turns away with a sigh and a sneer and I realize she will probably not be receptive to my concern.

Such is life. Kyle squirms and asks for the tenth time where we're going. I explain that we're on a trip to visit Daddy, and his clear brown eyes brighten at the prospect.

"Daddy is in the big city, right?"

"Yes. He's working up there. Are you excited to see him?"

Kyle grins brilliantly. "Yeah!"

The floor creaks beneath my feet and I glance up to see who it is approaching; I always tend to be paranoid. A mother always worries, I guess. It's a large man coming down the walkway, his body hidden under three layers of jacket. He's got a rugged strip of facial hair down each cheek that oddly suits him, his hands plunged into his jean pockets. His narrow eyes are ricocheting around the train like a hunted animal, his posture hunched and shuffling forward with an anxiety that belies his intimidating figure. I feel a pull of trepidation until I see his expression: frightened, unsure, wounded. He's no danger to me. His gaze catches on the girl across from me -- the one I was worried about, the one who looked so unhappy -- and the deep canyons in his brow smooth out. It takes a solid ten years off of him and the faint smile playing on his lips makes me realize he's actually a very good-looking man.

He leans over to get a better look at her, taking a peek at her young face from under her green hood. His smirk broadens some. "Hey, kid."

The girl flinches, turns to face him; her eyes go as wide as half-dollars. She looks like she's just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She watches him sit down, his suspicious green eyes still roving over the other passengers of the train. He looks at me and I look right back, issuing a silent warning: _Don't you dare hurt her, mister, or you'll have Mama Bear to reckon with... _He frowns a bit at me and then leans back over to the girl and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry about last night."

He blows out a big breath like that was real difficult for him; I have a feeling apologies aren't his forte. Kyle sits up straighter and drove his matchbox car up my shoulder and across my cheek, pressing his lips together and rumbling like an engine. The man across from me sits still and brooding as the girl sighs, glancing up at him in surrender.

"Me, too," she answers, and his mouth quirks a bit. He blinks like that was not something he was expecting her to say, but he nods anyway.

"You runnin' again?" He shuffles his feet a bit nervously, doesn't meet the girl's gaze. His eyes are tender but his mouth is tense.

The child's eyes are pained, defeated. "I heard the Professor is mad at me," she breathes. He catches that, hangs onto it like a lifeline -- this is something he can cope with, something he understands. I feel compelled by this man and this girl, how hard they're trying to connect on some common ground.

"Who told you that?" He barks, and I can help a little smile. He sounds so protective, so concerned... This is his girl, his sweetheart, and anybody who crosses her has got an ass-kicking in store for them.

The girl shrugs, unmoved. "A boy at school." The man flinches a bit, like he's just remembered that this a _child _he's talking to, not a... something else. She observes his displeasure and narrows her eyes. "You think I should go back."

She looks thoroughly irked and the man squirms a bit, uncomfortable. He doesn't look thrilled with this new change in direction of conversation, either. "I think you... should follow your instincts."

I hold back a bitter laugh and stroke Kyle's hair, who's fast fading against my shoulder. That man certainly looks like an instinctual kind of guy. The girl seems disappointed in his answer and her face twists in pain, tears wetting her eyes as she turns back to that damned window.

"The first boy I ever kissed ended up in a coma for _three weeks,_" she replies. I startle at that and furrow my brow -- kids these days! The man doesn't look surprised, but he does look sympathetic. And trapped. He doesn't know how to comfort _that _away. The girl turns to him with vulnerable eyes. "I can still feel him inside my head. It's the same with... you."

The man cringes, hunches deeper into his jackets. He looks guilty. His eyes snake over to her face and widen incrementally as he sees her shoulders trembling with grief. He pulls up his ridiculously long arm and winds it around her shoulder, squeezing her against his torso. The girl lets out a long breath and sags into him, her head leaning against his shoulder. Both the man and the girl look supremely relieved by this development. The man's eyes gentle considerably, relax, become more human. The girl sniffles and lets herself relax into his arms. "There's not many guys you'll understand... what you're going through," he mumbles. I knit my brow together and feel immensely sympathetic to whatever it is this child is suffering from. "But I think this Xavier guy is one of 'em. He seems genuinely to want to help you, and that's... a rare thing..." He pauses, looks ponderous as he presses his mouth to the top of her cloaked head. I can't tell whether its a kiss or whether he's just wishing it was. "For people like us."

The girl smiles a bit at that, the first time since I've seen her do that. It's a beautiful thing. People that young should never have to fight for happiness.

She sits up then to get a better look at him, and I cheer silently to myself is they look like they're about to seal it with a kiss, staring into each other's eyes with an unparalleled reverence. They look so sweet, so young, so _in love, _and it's something that warms the heart of an old lady like me. The man ruins it, though, as the train coughs and spasms to life and he jerks back, horrified with himself. He glances around and sees me watching them; colors and pulls his arm away from her. The girl sits back, a bit embarrassed, and the man clears his throat self-consciously.

Oh, well. Can't always get what we want, can we? "So," he grumbles. "Whaddya say we give these geeks another shot?" That lovingness is back in his eyes again as he addresses her, and its so obviously he just painfully adores this girl. She smiles feebly as his corniness and stares down at her hands. She hasn't been convinced. He hasn't told her yet what she needs to hear.

"Come on," he reassures her. She blossoms under the warmth of his gaze. "I'll take care of you."

She grins brilliantly at that, and looks up at him with softness in her face. "You promise?"

I feel like I'm watching some silly, soapy romantic comedy on the Lifetime channel, but I don't even care as they gaze at each other again. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I promise."

I sighed, satisfied with the conclusion of this budding love story, and pet my son's soft hair. I've always been a sucker for happily-ever-after's.

The train groans, and I sit up; then it shrieks and stops unnaturally. Kyle stirs in my arms and I tighten my grip on him. _What's going on?! _Just like some kind of horrible action flick, the train's whole front is ripped apart by some incredible unseen force. In floats a man in some absurd costume, a cape snapping around his legs and bucket helmet pulled over his aged face. He sets himself on the floor of the train and spots the man, who was standing up now and bracing himself with his arms gripping the back of the girl's chair. His face is a myriad of emotions -- fear, blistering rage, guilt. I fear a powerful flush of fear through my body as three foot long blades explode out of the man's fists.

I clench my jaw. A mutant. He's a mutant.

The older man in the funky helmet steps forward, holding out his hands like some kind of comic-book villain. His mouth curls up into a sadistic smile. "You must be Wolverine," he remarks cheerfully. He flexes his hand out and the man jerks, face horrified. His body contorts, chest pushed out and arms flung back behind him. "That remarkable metal doesn't run through your entire body, does it?" the villain asks joyfully, moving his fingers experimentally. I look back at this so-called Wolverine, who's face is torn up in agony. The blades coming out of his hands bend unnaturally, and the creak of his bones is as audible as his ragged, anguished breaths.

"What do you want with me?!" The mutant choked out, and the older man's face shifts in amused surprise.

"You?" he answers incredulously. "My dear boy," he laughs, "Whoever said I wanted _you_?"

What? I squinted a bit and cocked my head to the side, and glanced back at the mutant called Wolverine. My stomach riled as I saw the pure, utter desolation on his face, the mortal terror: he strained to get a look at the girl curled up in her seat, his mouth working soundlessly, a thousand apologies in his eyes -- _Oh god, _his face pined, _OhgodOhgodOhgod I'mSoSorry but you've got to RUN, you've got to RUN AWAY...! _

The villainous old man straightened his fingers and the Wolverine went flying. He smashed into the back of the train, the crunch of steel and glass splintering the air. Kyle let out a high-pitched scream and I gripped him fiercely, pressing his face into my shoulder. The young girl staggers to her feet as the old man steps forward, and sprints after her fallen hero -- no luck, the Wolverine is unconscious and the old man sends a syringe off after without so much as touching it. It spikes into her neck and she collapses with a huff of surprise.

I stare out at the girl and the man, who only moment ago were seeping with the contented joy of one another's company and were now injured and possibly dead on the ground side-by-side. The old man passes by my seat and I lean away, covering Kyle with my body. The villain does not seem to notice.

I can hear him muttering to himself as he walks by. "Young people," he sighs.

I shake my head as the girl is dragged away and the man is injected with four or five syringes full of some nameless concoction.

My son cries out against me and I press a kiss to his forehead. "I know, baby," I murmur. "I know."

The girl is loaded into a body bag and slung over some green-fleshed man's shoulder. The Wolverine shifts and moans on the floor, his eyes rolling up into his skull.

So much for happily-ever-after's.

FIN.


End file.
